


you won't feel a thing

by ginevieve



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fuck Or Die, Hurt Prompto Argentum, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Sort of? - Freeform, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24693265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginevieve/pseuds/ginevieve
Summary: He's loved Noctis for years.When he's given the chance to join Noct's personal Crownsguard and link in to the Prince's own magic, he doesn't hesitate for a minute, because Prompto would do anything to protect Noct.But the magic runs deep and true, and reads Prompto's heart for what it truly holds. And suddenly he is destined to take every hurt, every ache, every heartbreak that Noctis should feel as his own. And it may just kill him in the process, if he doesn't find a way to admit to the Prince how he really feels.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 10
Kudos: 109





	you won't feel a thing

_I've been kicked right down_

_I've been spat in the face_

_I've been pulled, weighed down_

_To the lowest place_

_I've been lied to, shamed_

_I have been disgraced_

_Been ex-communicated from every holy place_

_I've been beat up and robbed_

_I've been left for dead_

_For the way I look_

_For the things I said_

_When trouble thinks it's found us_

_The world falls down around us_

_I promise baby you won't ever_

_You won't ever feel a thing_

*

Prompto is pacing the length of the training room, even though Gladio’s told him to sit down five times already. It’s just nervous energy; he knows what’s coming isn’t going to hurt, isn’t really going to affect his everyday life, isn’t really even going to _change_ anything. Except it also sort of changes _everything_.

“So, like… what’s it feel like?” he asks, not quite meeting Gladio and Ignis’s gazes in case he sounds like an idiot. He probably does anyway.

From his seat, Ignis frowns, but it’s not his scary frown, it’s his thoughtful one. “It… tingles a bit, I suppose?” he muses. He’s got one leg crossed neatly over the other and his formal Crownsguard uniform fits him flawlessly. “To be honest, I don’t recall it feeling like much of anything.”

“It gave me a hard on,” Gladio intones without a hint of shame, which is fine, because Ignis looks horrified enough for the both of them.

“Gladio!”

The big man chuckles and shrugs. He cuts an imposing figure in his own uniform, but Prom can tell by the way he keeps rolling his shoulders that Gladio would rather be in his normal fatigues, at least, if not shirtless altogether. “What? The kid asked. Plus I was like, fourteen at the time. Pretty much everything gave me a hard on then.” He grins broadly.

Somehow Ignis manages to sound offended and amused at the same time. “Well, _I_ was thirteen at the time and had no such reaction.”

A mischievous glint in the Shield’s eye suggests he has a dirty reply to that, but Prompto is too busy fast-forwarding to panic mode to notice. “Oh em gee, guys, I _cannot_ pop a boner during the ceremony!” he whines, crossing his arms protectively over his chest and digging his nails in til it hurts.

“It’s not a ceremony, Prompto, merely a rite,” Ignis reminds him gently. He’s using his soothing, logical ‘advisor’ voice on the blond now, and Prom’s grateful for it. “And you’re going to be perfectly fine. I have complete faith in you, and so does the Prince.” Ignis then gifts him one of his rare, affectionate smiles.

Prompto tries to smile back, but his face feels numb. Oh no. Can faces go numb? Is he having a stroke? Can anxiety make you have a stroke?

And then Gladio decides to chime in at the most unhelpful moment. “Might wanna have a few unsexy thoughts on the backburner, just in case, y’know?” He waggles his eyebrows at Prompto. “Thinking of Councilor Sartorius usually shuts me down pretty quick – _oof_!” Flinching, he glares over at Ignis, who’s just jammed an elbow none-too-kindly into Gladio’s ribs.

“ _Honestly_ , Gladiolus,” Ignis sighs in utter exasperation, “why are you like this?”

“What? I’m just saying, Noct was barely a kid when we were linked, his magic is probably way stronger – and more _tingly_ – now.” Gladio is just trying to aggravate Ignis, that’s obvious, but it’s working on Prompto too, unfortunately. He swallows thickly as Gladio plows on, “I just want the kid to be prepared for anything.” Amber eyes full of mirth flash up at him. “Like his gun going off unexpectedly.”

“Gladiolus-!”

It’s probably a good thing the door to the training room opens just then, allowing King Regis to stroll in with Noct in tow, the Prince looking uncomfortable as he always did when having to act in his ‘formal’ capacity. Clarus tails them both and only pauses his visual sweep of the room to offer his son a quick nod.

The smirk is gone off Gladio’s face and his shoulders are high and stiff as he reciprocates the acknowledgment. It always startles Prompto how seamlessly the older man can slide from just Gladio, romantic goofball and occasional asshole, to Shield of the future King.

Then again, everything is startling to Prompto right now, including the hand that grasps the back of his jacket and tugs him into his seat. He makes an undignified yelp as he flops down beside Ignis, who is perfectly composed. “ _Relax_ ,” the advisor’s voice drifts over him, a reassuring whisper. Luckily, the three of them are sat some ways away from the rest of the Crownsguard initiates, who are trying not to shuffle around too much under Clarus’s stern glare.

Antithesis to his Shield, Regis offers them all a warm smile when he reaches the assembly. “Welcome again, ladies and gentlemen. This won’t take long at all, I promise. No one wants to waste an entire Saturday evening at the Citadel. Least of all me,” he chuckles at his own words, and that seems to break some of the tension in the room as a few others echo his laugh. Behind his father, Noctis catches Prom’s gaze and shows off one of his more dramatic eye rolls.

Prompto feels the tightness in his chest ease just a little.

Clapping his hands together, the King glances over his shoulder at his Shield. “Shall we get this over with, then?” His focus slides to his son. “You know what to do, right, Noctis?”

“Yeah, Dad, I know,” he answers. There’s only the tiniest hint of sarcasm in his voice and he’s avoided rolling his eyes again; Ignis’s hard work beating manners into Noctis is apparently taking hold, at last. Prom’s pretty sure he can feel the advisor’s silent nod of approval from his side. “I got this.”

Regis smiles at his son and reaches out to mess up his hair in the way Noctis hates. “Go on then. And make sure your pizzas and beers get charged back to me for tonight,” he laughs, and now Noctis _does_ roll his eyes again. But the King has turned his attention to his group of Crownsguard and Noctis is shuffling over to where Ignis and Gladio are waiting patiently and Prompto is scuffing the toes of his boots against the floor.

“Hey guys,” the Prince greets them. He’s wearing his formal suit as well, sharp black with gold accents, and it definitely gives him an air of something approaching regality. Except the moment he’s far enough out of his father’s sphere of influence, Noct jams his hands into his jacket pockets and lets his shoulders slump unceremoniously, and there’s his best friend back, looking bored and eager to leave.

“Posture, Highness,” Ignis chides, but his tone indicates that he perfectly expects to be ignored. Which he is.

Noct’s attention is given over in full to Prompto, who tries to flash a cheery grin. “Hey buddy, lookin’ _sharp_ ,” he teases, because it’s exactly the kind shit he’s supposed to be saying instead of silently continuing to panic, which is what he’s _actually_ doing.

Snorting, Noct makes a half-hearted kick at Prom’s chair. “Whatever. Stand up so we can do this.”

Prom jumps to his feet, maybe a bit too fast. The Prince’s advisor and Shield politely pretend to ignore the fact that he’s just knocked his whole chair over in the process. Noct just gives him the side eye.

“Shit, sorry,” he swears, then mentally kicks himself. “Um! I mean, ah, sorry for the uh, excess, um… Sorry, Highness. Noct. Prince Noctis.” His brain-to-mouth filter has failed him and if someone could please just punch him in the back of the head and reset it now, that would be great.

But Noct knows him, knows his best friend is a hot mess express when it comes to all the Prince-y, uptight-y, fancy shmancy stuff, and takes pity on him. “Chill, Prom. We’ll be out of here in less than five minutes, then we can all go get drunk and play King’s Knight til we pass out,” he promises, then shoots his advisor a challenging glare. “Even Ignis.”

Ignis purses his lips, but Prompto is pretty sure he’s hiding the hint of smile. “We’ll see.”

Forcing himself to breathe out slow and steady, just like he’d been taught in training, Prom makes an effort at squaring his shoulders and looking somewhat dignified. “Okay,” he exhales. “Okay.” He nods at Noct. “Ready, dude.”

“Cool. So, ah.” Noctis shuffles his feet, drags his hand awkwardly across the back of his neck. “I’m supposed to say some stuff. Integrity and honor and upholding something or other-”

“ _Honestly_ , Noctis,” Ignis’s sigh is pure exasperation.

“-but all that doesn’t really matter, because I know if there’s anyone in the world who’s always gonna have my back, it’s you,” the Prince finishes in a rush, and there’s a raw sincerity in his voice and gaze that does something squiggly to Prompto’s insides.

Gladio grumbles under his breath, “Hell, what are we then, piles of old anak shi- _ow,_ gods _damn_ it, Ignis!” Apparently the advisor has very sharp elbows.

There’s a little wobble in his smile and his allergies must be kicking in, which is _obviously_ why his eyes are watering, but despite all that, Prom manages to find his voice somehow. “Ever at your side, your Highness.” He presses a fist over his heart and bows reverentially, just like Iggy taught him. It helps a little because staring at Noct’s shoes is much less likely to make him burst into tears.

He can’t see Noct straightening himself but he can feel a shift in his friend’s energy as Noctis drops a hand onto Prompto’s shoulder. “Then it’s my honor to welcome you into my personal Crownsguard and link you to my magic.” The tips of Noct’s fingers are starting to glow and there’s a hint of warmth through the material of Prom’s suit jacket.

In the end, it doesn’t tingle. It doesn’t give him a hard on, either.

Noct’s magic seeps its way into Prompto’s skin, lacing through his essence and binding him to his Prince irrevocably, burrowing into every bit of him until it finds his deepest thoughts and lodges there. It wraps itself around the things that Prompto will never say – _I love you, I love you, Noctis, you are my world and I will never let anything hurt you, I love you_ – and settles there, warm and heavy. When Prompto at last lifts his head back up, he’s breathless and his sapphire eyes are impossibly wide and whatever it is Noctis sees in them makes the Prince flush and look away.

“Whoa, dude,” Prom whispers, and Gladio’s loud bark of laughter is a welcome distraction.

“Did you break him, Princess?” the Shield smirks.

There’s a hand on his lower back, and Ignis’s voice is as gentle as his touch as he suggests, “Why don’t you try summoning your weapon from the armiger, Prompto?”

Yes. Yes, that is an excellent idea, and thank all the gods for Ignis and his ability to be chill when Prompto’s entire body is possibly imploding from whatever the hell just happened. He stretches out a hand that he is barely able to keep from trembling and reaches out into what should be empty space. Except it’s not empty, and it’s not space, it’s a storage closet, a _room_ , and he can see it all laid out in his mind, so neatly arranged that it’s obvious Ignis does the organizing. And right there, in the nowhere-space that exists between, his gleaming new Crownsguard pistols are ready for him. The minute he thinks it, the familiar weight begins to materialize between his fingers in a shower of blue and silver sparkles, like the most badass techno glitter explosion. It’s literally almost the most awesome thing he’s ever seen in his life, second only to the first time Noctis ever openly smiled at him.

“Oh. Em. Gee,” he breathes, “I’m a wizard!”

There’s a roar of laughter and then Prom finds himself in a headlock, Gladio’s thick arm unrelenting as his knuckles drag roughly across Prom’s scalp, decimating his hair. His weapon instantly dematerializes amidst the onslaught. “All right, enough of this fancy shit, before Blondie’s head explodes,” the Shield announces, and begins to march toward the door with Prompto still under his arm, squawking in protest. “C’mon, Prompto the Ri _dork_ ulous, I’ve got some real magic to show ya – how fast I can make a pizza and twelve pack of beer vanish.”

*

The pizza is good, the beer is better, and best of all are the two ultra-rare weapons he manages to loot from one of the mini bosses they take down in the very first dungeon they raid in King’s Knight. By eleven o’clock, they’ve cleared three more and Gladio is constructing a pyramid of empty beer bottles on Noctis’s coffee table despite Ignis’s insistence that they’re going to fall and shatter everywhere.

By midnight, Ignis is correcting the architecture of Gladio’s pyramid while Noctis attempts to hold a semi-sober phone call with the poor InsomniaEats driver who’d been assigned to deliver them more beer. Prompto finally has to take over when Noct completely blanks on his own building security code.

Just shy of two, with their fresh supply of alcohol already half-exhausted and the structure on the coffee table having progressed to a proper beer bottle mausoleum, Gladio is the first to go down. One minute he’s swearing at his phone, hacking at a hydra with his avatar’s broadsword, and the next, he’s snoring, head tossed awkwardly over the back of the couch.

Giggling maniacally, Noct and Prom are preparing to write various lude words across the Shield’s face with a permanent marker, except Ignis comes back out of the bathroom and tells them off. Then he proceeds to hike up Gladio’s shirt and draw a giant dick on Gladio’s chest.

Prompto decides Ignis is the coolest drunk ever. He tells him so. Seven times.

When he turns to tell Iggy for the eighth time how awesome he is, he realizes the advisor has dozed off as well, sprawled across an arm chair in the most inelegant pose Prom’s ever seen the man in. Obviously he _must_ take pictures of this.

As the shutter noise on his phone clicks repeatedly (if he takes a dozen pics, at least _one_ has to come out in focus, right?), the blond nudges an elbow into Noct’s shoulder. “Heyyyyy buddy, looks like it’s jus’ you an’ me left,” he slurs, and turns to beam at the Prince. They’re pressed up against each other, thigh to thigh, and Prom loves when they drink together, because he doesn’t have to keep such a tight leash on his desire to cuddle his best friend. In fact, Noct doesn’t seem to mind at all when Prom leans in and tucks his head right up under Noct’s chin, his hand knotting in the fabric of Noct’s shirt. He can feel the Prince’s heart beating beneath his fingertips, and for an insane second, he imagines he can feel the magic pulsing through his friend’s body as well, echoing back into his own chest with the bond they now share.

“Hey Prom,” Noct murmurs. His voice is husky and low, and the blond can feel the vibration of it against his cheek. He shivers pleasantly.

“Yeah, dude?”

“Today, with the thing. The thing we did with the… magic… thing.” Clearly the Prince’s hold on cognizance is fading, but Prompto feels his attention sharpen. He still remembers the impossible swell of feeling, acknowledges it still wrapped tightly around his insides. His heart.

Prom swallows thickly. “What about it?”

“When it happened, did you… did you feel like…” Noctis emits a tiny, frustrated growl. “I dunno, I can’t… the words won’t… fuck.”

Suddenly there are long, slender fingers tangling in the hair at the back of Prompto’s neck and okay, so that’s a thing. He’s frozen, utterly undone by that single touch, and utterly unwilling to acknowledge that it’s likely just the result of a too-drunk, touchy-feely-inclined Prince. For this moment he can pretend it means more.

“What did you feel?” he dares to ask, his words barely a whisper.

The motion of Noct’s hand is methodic, soothing through silky blond strands, as he hums thoughtfully. “I dunno,” he repeats. “I just felt like… for a moment… maybe… we…”

Prompto holds his breath for an entire minute waiting for the Prince to go on before his anxiety gets the better of him. “Noct?”

No answer. The hand in his hair has stilled.

Pushing himself clumsily up, Prompto comes face to face with his best friend, the love of his life, the man he would move the whole of Eos for. Noctis is asleep, thick dark lashes resting against perfect pale cheeks. Each slow rise and fall of his breath seems to twist the warm, wanting thing in Prompto’s chest tighter.

So he snugs himself back up against the Prince, pressing his face into the curve of Noct’s neck so he can catch the last lingering hints of Noct’s cologne. He closes his eyes, and drifts off to the song of the magic now humming through his veins.

_I love him, I love him, I love him_.

*

The morning sun is a knife into his eyeballs and the sound of the television is a sonic boom in his skull and also he might possibly be dying.

“Ughhhhh,” Prompto moans into the couch, burying his face into the cushion and praying to all the gods to please just go ahead and strike him dead already. But he receives no such boon, and instead, a finger prods into his spine.

“Gonna make it, dude?” Noctis’s voice, somewhere above and to his left, is tinged with laughter, and what the hell, that can’t be right.

When it came to hangovers, Prom usually didn’t suffer much beyond a headache and a bit of minor indigestion, regardless of how much he drank the night before. Noct, on the other hand, was notorious for succumbing to massive cases of Morning After Syndrome with even the smallest amounts of alcohol, usually spending the entire next day moaning for water and pain killers. If Prompto was feeling this wrecked, then Noct, by all rights, should’ve been a mewling mess of misery on the floor.

Instead, the finger was back, this time jabbing into Prompto’s ribcage, and now Noct was definitely laughing at him. “C’mon, loser, Iggy’s making bacon sandwiches. Come get one,” he says cheerfully.

Prompto turns his head just enough to cast one squinted, glaring blue eye at his best friend. Inches from his face, Noctis’s smile is brighter than the sun currently trying to laser beam him to death. The Prince looks in perfect health, not a hint of agony or dry heaving in sight. If Prom didn’t love him so much, he’s pretty sure he’d want to murder him. He’s pretty sure regicide would be justifiable in his current position.

“Why. The _hell_. Are you so perky,” Prompto grumbles.

Noct just laughs at him again, then nearly kills the blond by ruffling his hair, which sends an impossible spike of pain straight into Prompto’s brain. Noticing his friend’s wince, the Prince just snorts and rolls his eyes, but his voice is affectionate when he teases, “You big baby. How much did you even drink? You never get hungover.”

Hiding his face back into the couch, Prom just groans. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

“Noct, you’re being unkind. Prompto never antagonizes you when you’ve imbibed too much.” Ignis’s voice, distant at first but moving closer, sweeps over him like a wave of relief, and the hand that presses against his lower back is gentle and alleviating. “I’ll bring you some water and aspirin, just stay still.”

Ignis is the best. He loves Ignis so much. Almost as much as he loves Noctis, but it’s a close thing right now, considering the Prince is still hovering and leering at him.

When Ignis returns moments later and presses two small pills into his open hand, it’s the greatest trial of his life lifting his head enough to toss them into his mouth. A glass of cold water is offered immediately after, and he manages a single mouthful, just enough to clear the pills from his throat, before he has to lay back down. For a horrifying moment, he’s sure it’s all going to come back up on Noct’s living room carpet in a wave of nausea, but somehow he manages to swallow it back.

The murmur of voices swirls over him, but Prom is content to wedge himself back into the comfort of the couch, and it doesn’t take long for the medication to ease the pounding in his head. He knows there’s something about this situation that should concern him, but by time the notion seeps into his thoughts, he’s already half asleep, and the lingering dull ache in his temples prevents him from pursuing the notion any farther.

When he wakes up, it’s late afternoon, and the only thing that concerns him is the rumbling in his stomach, and the leftover bacon sandwiches that Ignis has so kindly tucked away for him. And if at some point later he wonders about the strangeness of his suddenly developing a hangover, at the same time that Noct mysteriously suffers no after-drinking effects, he decides to chalk it up to their-newly formed magic link. As such, he tucks it away into the ‘Weird Shit’ file in his brain and doesn’t afford it another moment of consideration.

**Author's Note:**

> I legit apologize for the rambling, present-tense, stream-of-consciousness style of the writing, but that's just how Prompto's thoughts flow in my own head. My Sunshine Boi is a hot mess of anxiety and love and cuddles and nonsense <3
> 
> I have a general idea of where this story is going, and it includes some definite Prompto whump, so you are forewarned. But! I am all about Happily Ever Afters, so no worries.
> 
> This work is, as of yet, unbetaed, so if you see any errors, please by all means, let me know. I appreciate comments and constructive criticism more than I can say!
> 
> I'm @Ginevieve07 on Twitter, feel free to follow me for general nerdy nonsense. I love new friends!


End file.
